Pathway to Japanese Literature

I Y-kun spoke.

Earlier, there was talk of the Thirteenth Night, but I too know a strange tale connected to that night. It concerns having one's shadow stepped on. The children's game of stepping on shadows is no longer popular nowadays. Children these days don't engage in such trivial games. One would think moonlit nights would be desirable at any time, but this practice seemed to be limited to autumn nights. On evenings when the autumn moon shone with piercing clarity and the night dew spread across the ground glowing white, the town's children would come out to the streets and, while singing this rhyme, step on their shadows cast upon the earth.

――Shadows and roadside deities, Thirteenth Night’s botamochi―― Some would run about trying to step on their own shadows, but most would chase after others’ shadows. The target, trying to avoid being stepped on, darted around while seizing opportunities to skillfully step on their pursuer’s shadow. Others would dash out from the side and try to step on someone’s shadow. In this way, three or five at a time—or even ten or more when there were many—would tumble into disorder, each chasing their own shadow cast upon the ground. Of course, some would slip and fall. Some would snap the straps of their geta or zori. I don’t know when this game began, but in any case, it persisted through the Edo period into the early years of Meiji—lasting until our own childhoods—only to fade away by the time of the First Sino-Japanese War.

While children stepping on each other's shadows was nothing remarkable in itself, this alone apparently proved insufficiently entertaining—they would often instead step on passersby's shadows and flee. Since carelessly stepping on adults’ shadows risked scolding, they would typically target passing girls or children—stomping on their shadows with a raucous whoop before fleeing. While it may be a harmless prank, having one’s own reflection—even if merely a shadow—trampled underfoot with muddy shoes is hardly a pleasant experience.

And concerning this matter, such a story has been passed down.

The evening of the twelfth day of the ninth month, Kaei 1. In Shiba Shibai-cho, Oseki, daughter of the Omiya thread shop, had visited relatives near Shinmei-mae and returned before five (8 PM). Tomorrow would be the Thirteenth Night, and tonight’s moon shone brightly. The autumn chill this year bit deeper than usual—with many catching colds, as people said—so Oseki clutched the sleeves of her newly tailored padded kimono while hurrying northward, when upon reaching Udagawa-cho’s main street, five or six boys came running about at play. The sound of their song about shadows and Roadside Deities could be heard.

As she was about to pass through that area, the group of children suddenly scattered toward her all at once, trying to stomp on Oseki's black shadow cast upon the ground. Startled, she tried to dodge, but it was already too late. The mischievous children closed in from all sides—front, back, left, right—and trampled the fleeing girl's shadow as they pleased. They left singing of Thirteenth Night's botamochi at the top of their lungs and bursting into raucous laughter. Even after they had left, Oseki kept desperately fleeing. She gasped for breath, fleeing and fleeing until she reached the front of her own shop in Shibai-cho, where she sank down onto the threshold and collapsed sideways. In the shop were her father Yasuke and two shop boys, who, startled, immediately came to her aid. From the back rooms, her mother Oyoshi and the maid Okan came rushing out, gave her water to drink, calmed her down, and then tried to inquire about the details—but Oseki's heart palpitations showed no sign of subsiding, and for some time she remained prostrate at the shopfront, clutching her chest.

Oseki was a seventeen-year-old girl in the bloom of youth, and of fair appearance. Though it was evening, though it was moonlit, and though it was a bustling thoroughfare, her parents assumed some fool must have harassed her, so Yasuke went out to check—but there was no sign of anyone who might have pursued her. “What in the world happened to you?” her mother Oyoshi asked again, unable to wait any longer. “I was stepped on,” Oseki said, her voice trembling.

“Who stepped on you?” “When I passed through Udagawa-cho, the children playing with shadows and Roadside Deities stepped on my shadow…” “What’s this?” Yasuke laughed, his tension dissolving like mist. “What’s so dreadful about that? “Who’d raise such a fuss over nonsense? “Shadows and Roadside Deities—common as dirt.” “Truly now, isn’t this too trifling to fret over?” “I nearly died of fright thinking calamity struck,” said her mother, relief fraying into peevishness.

"But if your shadow gets stepped on... bad things happen..." "If your lifespan shortens..." Oseki’s voice grew even more tearful. "How could there be such nonsense?" Oyoshi had dismissed it with a single remark, but truth be told, among certain people of that era, there did exist a legend that having one’s shadow stepped on brought ill fortune. In China too they say one should step back seven feet to avoid treading upon a teacher’s shadow. Even if merely a shadow, this legend likely arose from notions of propriety—a warning against trampling human form—but later transformed into fear for the stepped-upon rather than restraint for the stepper: beliefs that shadow-treading brought misfortune, shortened lifespans, or in extreme cases, death within three years. Had it been truly so dire, parents everywhere would have strictly forbidden such games; yet since no such prohibitions arose, these legends likely remained obscure superstitions. Still, for those who believed and feared them, their prevalence mattered not at all.

“Stop spouting nonsense and get to the back room quickly!” “There’s no need to fret over such trifles.” Scolded by her father and soothed by her mother, Oseki dejectedly retreated to the back room—yet the anxiety and terror filling her chest refused to subside. The second floor of Omiya had two rooms—a six-tatami and a three-tatami—and though Oseki was meant to sleep in the three-tatami one, that night she was startled awake time and again by violent palpitations. She dreamed that several small black shadows were jumping on her own chest and stomach.

The following day was the Thirteenth Night, and at Omiya as well, following annual custom, they bought susuki grass and chestnuts to offer before the moon. That night’s moon shone brightly.

“What a fine moon-viewing night,” the neighbors remarked as well.

Yet Oseki found herself unable to shake the dread that came with looking at the moon. It was not the moon itself she feared—what terrified her was seeing her own shadow cast in its silver light. While others extolled the beautiful moon—some gazing from second-floor windows, others peering through shopfronts, still more venturing into streets to admire it—she alone stayed barricaded in the rear chambers. ——Shadows and Roadside Deities, Thirteenth Night's botamochi—— The children's singing voices gnawed relentlessly at Oseki's fraying spirit.

Two

From then on, Oseki did not walk at night. She especially came to fear going outside on moonlit nights. In situations where she absolutely had to go out at night, she endeavored to choose moonless dark evenings for her outings. This behavior, contrary to that of other girls her age, caught the attention of her father and mother, and her parents repeatedly scolded her: “Are you still worrying about such trivial things?” And yet, the peculiar terror and unease that had burrowed deep into Oseki’s soul never faded away.

Amidst all this, the unfortunate Oseki encountered another incident that startled her through her own shadow. On the thirteenth day of that year’s Twelfth Month, as Oseki’s household was engaged in year-end cleaning, a young apprentice came running from their relatives’ shop in Shinmei-mae with news that the grandmother had suddenly collapsed. These Shinmei-mae relatives were a household where Oseki’s mother’s elder sister had married in—not only were they in the same trade as Omiya, but there was also a private understanding that their second son Yōjirō would eventually become Oseki’s husband. Hearing of the elderly matriarch’s collapse left them no choice but to act. Though someone needed to rush over immediately, with both father and mother occupied by year-end cleaning that day, they resolved to send Oseki for the time being.

Removing her sash and pushing back her hair, Oseki left the shop in haste a little past the eighth hour of daylight (2 p.m.). Her destination was a shop called Ōnoya, where they too were engaged in year-end cleaning that day. In the midst of this, the seventy-five-year-old grandmother had suddenly collapsed, making the commotion anything but ordinary. As there was a four-and-a-half-mat annex at the rear, they carried the stricken woman there and tended to her until she fortunately regained consciousness. Though it was an exceptionally cold day, the elderly woman—trusting in her hardiness—had labored alongside the younger workers since dawn, which brought about this unusual incident; yet there was no cause for further concern. "If kept quiet and rested, she will recover naturally," the doctor had said. Just as they began to relax at last, Oseki came rushing in.

“Well, it still turned out well enough in the end, hasn’t it?”

Oseki felt relieved, but having come all this way, she could not simply leave immediately. As she assisted in caring for the patient at the bedside, the short days of the Twelfth Month eventually darkened, and Ōnoya’s shop finished its year-end cleaning. Having been served soba and dinner, Oseki was to leave here shortly before five. “Please give my regards to your father and mother.” “The patient is as you can see, so there’s no need to worry anymore,” said Ōnoya’s Aunt.

Though it was still early evening, since it was the end of the year and the world felt unsettled, the aunt instructed her second son Yōjirō to escort Oseki home. Though Oseki protested it was unnecessary given their busy state, the aunt insisted there must be no mishap and forcibly sent Yōjirō along with her. As they left the shop, the aunt called out with a laugh: “Yōjirō. Since you’re escorting Oseki-chan, watch out for shadows and Roadside Deities.”

“In this cold, no one’s even out on the streets,” Yōjirō answered with a laugh. The incident where Oseki had her shadow stepped on had indeed occurred on their way back from this house, and since her mother Oyoshi had apparently spoken to the aunt about Oseki being troubled by it, all members of the Ōnoya household knew of the matter. Yōjirō was a nineteen-year-old, fair-skinned, slender man who could be said to make a well-matched couple with Oseki. The aunt smiled as she watched the future couple leave side by side, appearing harmonious.

Though she had initially declined, Oseki was secretly pleased to be escorted by Yōjirō. Laughing as they stepped outside, there were shops that had finished their soot cleaning and lowered their large shutters early that night. Illuminating their entire houses with lights, there were shops where people still laughed and chattered. The moonlight lay white over the roofs of the houses as though snow had fallen. Gazing up at the moon, Yōjirō hunched his shoulders against the night's biting cold.

“There’s no wind, but it’s quite cold.” “It is rather cold.” “Oseki-chan, look—the moon is so clear.” Urged by Yōjirō, Oseki involuntarily looked up to find a single winter moon hanging clear as a cold mirror above the drying rack on the opposite roof. “What a lovely moon, isn’t it.” Though she had said this, a sudden unease welled up in Oseki’s chest. Tonight was the thirteenth of December—the moon’s presence should have been perfectly obvious—but until now, whether from being preoccupied with various matters or walking alongside Yōjirō, she had forgotten about it. The bright moon—in stark contrast—darkened Oseki’s heart. As though suddenly shown something terrifying, she hastily turned her face away and looked down—only for the shadows of the two of them on the ground to come into sharp view.

At the same moment, Yōjirō also spoke as if suddenly remembering. “Oseki-chan doesn’t go out on moonlit nights, you know.”

When Oseki remained silent, Yōjirō burst out laughing. “Why do you worry about such things?” “I should have come along to escort you that night too.” “But it’s just... I can’t help worrying about it,” Oseki pleaded in a low voice. “It’s fine,” Yōjirō laughed again. “Will it be alright?”

The two of them arrived at Udagawa-chō’s street. Just as Yōjirō had said, on this bitterly cold night of the twelfth month, not a single child could be seen frolicking noisily to trample shadows. Since ancient times, the shadow figures of men and women had been counted among detestable things, but Yōjirō and Oseki walked pressed close together in a line, casting those hateful shadows upon the earth as they went. Of course, though the flow of people never ceased along this main thoroughfare, there were no ill-willed passersby who would deliberately crush those two detested shadow figures underfoot.

It was when they had passed through Udagawa-chō and stepped into Shibai-chō. From a rooftop somewhere, the cawing of a crow could be heard.

“Oh, a crow…” Oseki turned toward the source of the sound. “It’s a moonlit crow.” The moment Yōjirō said this, two dogs came running out from a nearby alley and began madly dancing over Oseki’s shadow. Startled, she dodged aside—but the dogs chased after her movement, running wildly while trampling her shadow. Oseki trembled and clung to Yōjirō.

“You, hurry up and chase them…” “Damn it!” “Shoo! Shoo!” Though chased by Yōjirō, the dogs still clung to Oseki as if obsessed, leaping wildly while trampling her shadow. At this, Yōjirō flew into a rage, picked up pebbles at his feet, and hurled them two or three times—whereupon the two dogs let out yelps and fled.

Oseki was safely escorted back to her home, but that night in her dreams, she saw two dogs dashing about by her pillow.

III

Until now, Oseki had feared moonlit nights; but after that incident, she came to fear even daylight. If she went out into sunlight, her shadow would be cast upon the ground. Fearing someone might trample it, she grew reluctant to venture out on bright days. Preferring dark nights and dim days—even favoring shadowy corners within her home—she inevitably became a gloomy figure. As this intensified around March of the following year, she came to loathe even lamplight. Be it moon or sun or flame—anything that cast her shadow became detestable. She dreaded glimpsing her own silhouette. She ceased attending needlework lessons altogether.

“Oseki has become quite a problem too, hasn’t she,” said the mother, who knew the circumstances, occasionally furrowing her brow and whispering to her husband. “What a hopeless case she is.” Yasuke could only sigh; there was nothing he could do. “After all, it must be a kind of illness,” said Oyoshi.

“Well, I suppose so.”

Word of this reached the people of Ōnoya as well, and her aunt and uncle grew concerned. Yōjirō in particular was deeply troubled. Moreover, precisely because he had been accompanying her during the second incident, he even felt a kind of responsibility. “While you were right there beside her, why didn’t you chase those dogs away at once?” Yōjirō was even scolded by his own mother.

The first time Oseki had her shadow stepped on was on the Thirteenth Night of September. Over half a year had now passed since then, with Oseki turning eighteen and Yōjirō welcoming his twentieth spring. By prior arrangement, the marriage plans were meant to be settled this year; yet with the crucial bride-to-be having taken on a half-mad, half-sickly aspect—leaving matters at a standstill—not only Oseki’s parents but her aunt and uncle grew deeply anxious. Still, ordinary counsel and admonitions proved wholly incapable of curing her malady.

After all, acknowledging this as a type of illness, even Ōmiya brought out the reluctant girl herself and had her examined by two or three doctors; yet none could provide a definitive diagnosis, merely stating it was likely melancholia—a condition common among girls of marriageable age. Before long, the eldest son of Ōnoya—that is, Yōjirō’s elder brother—had heard from someone that there was a renowned ascetic in Shitaya, but Yōjirō did not believe it.

“They say he’s a fox conjurer.” “Ask someone like that for prayers and you’ll wind up fox-possessed instead.”

“No, that ascetic isn’t such a person.” “Even most cases of madness can be cured if they have prayers performed once, they say.” The brothers’ heated argument reached their mother’s ears, so she relayed it to Ōmiya’s parents regardless. The troubled Yasuke and his wife were overjoyed. However, thinking their daughter would surely refuse if they tried to take her immediately, the couple decided to first visit the ascetic themselves and hear his opinion. That was the beginning of June in Kaei 2, a dark day when this year’s rainy season still had not fully cleared.

The ascetic’s house stood on the backstreet of Gojō no Tenjin—its front facade was not particularly wide, but as it stretched alarmingly deep into the lot, these rainy days made its interior feel all the more dimly lit. They didn’t know what deity it was, but in the inner room where it was enshrined, two candles were burning. The ascetic was an elderly man who appeared to be over sixty. After listening in detail from Yasuke and his wife about their daughter, he closed his eyes and pondered for a while. “To fear one’s own shadow—that is a most curious matter. In any case, I shall give you this candle. Take this candle and return home now.”

The ascetic took out one of the candles glowing before the altar. He instructed them to illuminate the candle’s flame at tonight’s Hour of the Rat (midnight) and carefully observe their daughter’s shadow projected onto either a wall or a shōji screen. If some possessing spirit had taken hold of their daughter, he explained, even if its form remained unseen, its shadow would manifest clearly. If a fox possessed her, then without fail, the fox’s shadow would appear. If a demon had possessed her, a demon would appear. He said that if they observed it carefully and reported back to him, he would have an appropriate plan in turn. He placed the candle into a small plain wooden box, chanted something resembling a spell, then ceremoniously handed it to Yasuke.

“We are most grateful.”

The couple reverently received it and returned home.

That day, the rain had been growing heavier since evening, and from time to time, the sound of thunder could be heard. They must have thought that with this, the rainy season would finally end—but for Yasuke and his wife tonight, the sound of the rain and thunder somehow felt unnervingly ominous.

Because they had thought explaining things beforehand would be troublesome, the couple did not breathe a word of it to their daughter. Since they always closed shop at four bells (10:00 PM), that night too they followed their usual routine and had the household retire. Oseki slept in the second-floor three-tatami room.

The couple with a secret in their hearts pretended to sleep and waited for the night to deepen when, before long, the midnight bell tolled. At that signal, the couple quietly climbed the stairs. Yasuke was holding his candle. When they slid open the fusuma door to the three-tatami room on the second floor and peered inside, Oseki lay asleep that night as though exhausted, her breathing peaceful. Oyoshi gently shook her awake and sat the half-asleep young girl upright on the bedding, whereupon his black shadow swayed thinly upon the mouse-colored wall. This was because the father’s hand holding out the candle trembled slightly.

When the couple fearfully stared at the wall, what was reflected there was indeed their daughter’s shadow. There were no shadows of horned demons or sharp-mouthed foxes to be seen there.

IV

The couple breathed a sigh of apparent relief. After stealthily laying their daughter back down—who kept peering about restlessly as though perplexed—the two crept downstairs on tiptoe. The next day, when Yasuke alone revisited the ascetic in Shitaya, the aged holy man sat deep in thought once more. “Then even I have no prayers to perform.” Rebuffed outright, Yasuke stood utterly confounded. “Is there truly no way to beseech your divine intercession?” he entreated mournfully.

“I’m afraid it’s beyond my power.” “However, since you’ve gone to such trouble visiting repeatedly, you might as well try once more.” With this, the ascetic handed over another candle. “Do not light this flame tonight.” “Count one hundred nights from today—the time must again fall during the Hour of the Rat at midnight. Do not forget.”

Though he thought one hundred days from now seemed far too long a wait, Yasuke didn’t have the courage to voice his complaints before this ascetic. He obediently received one candle as instructed and returned home. Given these circumstances, it was only natural that Oseki’s marriage came to be postponed. Yōjirō privately seethed with indignation at their mistaken faith in such ascetics, but crushed by the pressure from those around him, he had no choice but to meekly submit.

“It would be good to have her stand under a waterfall somewhere in the middle of summer,” Yōjirō said. He attempted to persuade the Ōmiya couple to take Oseki out to Ōji or Meguro Falls, but though her parents were willing, Oseki herself firmly refused to go outside, and in the end, this too was not carried out.

The summer heat this year was exceptionally intense, and Oseki’s summer emaciation had become strikingly noticeable. Confined to sunless inner rooms where daylight never reached, her lack of exercise and accompanying loss of appetite increasingly wore her down until she had become like a living ghost. Those unaware of the truth whispered that she must have consumption. In the meantime, summer passed and autumn came, until it was September—the month marking autumn’s end in the old calendar. The hundredth day they had been instructed about by the ascetic corresponded to September twelfth.

That was not something they had only just now learned. When instructed by the ascetic, Yasuke and his wife had immediately counted out the days and already determined in advance that it fell on the eve of the Thirteenth Night. The first time Oseki's shadow had been stepped upon was on the eve of last year's Thirteenth Night, and the fact that the ascetic's hundredth day coincided precisely with its one-year anniversary cast a dark shadow over her parents' hearts. This time, fearing the candlelight might truly reveal some supernatural phenomenon yet harboring an inexpressible unease—driven too by that morbid curiosity people call wanting to glimpse terror—they found themselves desperately awaiting the day's swift arrival.

September twelfth had finally arrived. The moon that night was as bright as it had been the previous year.

The following thirteenth day—today too was clear since morning. A minor earthquake occurred a little before noon. Around eight bells (2:00 PM), the aunt from Ōnoya came to the neighborhood and stopped by the Ōmiya shop. Summoned, Oseki came out from the back and gave her aunt a proper greeting. When her aunt was leaving, Oyoshi escorted her out to the front and whispered in a hushed voice in the street. “Oseki’s hundredth day was last night.” “That’s why I came to check on things too,” the aunt whispered in a hushed voice. “So, has something changed…?”

“Well, you see, Sister,” said Oyoshi, glancing back over her shoulder as she sidled closer. “Last night too, at nine bells [midnight], we sneaked into Oseki’s bedchamber, lifted her up while she was drowsy and dazed—and when my husband held up the candle… a skeleton’s shadow appeared on the wall…” Oyoshi’s voice was trembling. The aunt’s face also turned pale.

“What? A skeleton’s shadow… “You didn’t mistake what you saw?” “Because it was so uncanny, I stared at it intently—but there was no doubt it was a skeleton. I grew more frightened by the moment.” “Not just me—my husband saw it too. It’s no lie.” “Oh…” The aunt sighed. “Does she not know?” “She was so drowsy she fell right back asleep—it seems she knows nothing.” “Still—what could make a skeleton appear like that?”

“Did you go to Shitaya and ask?” inquired the aunt. “Early this morning, my husband went to Shitaya and told him about it,” said Oyoshi, her voice clouding. “But Ascetic-sama just remained silent and pondered—he said even he couldn’t make sense of it.” “Is it that he truly doesn’t know, or that he knows but won’t say—which do you think it is?” “Who knows?” The aunt imagined that even if he knew, he probably wouldn’t say. Oyoshi seemed to think the same. If that were the case, it could only mean something bad. If it were a good thing, there would be no reason to hide it—this was something anyone could reason out.

The two women exchanged dark looks and stood motionless in the middle of the street for a while—white clouds drifted high across the azure sky above their heads.

Oyoshi eventually burst into tears.

“Will Oseki die?” The aunt also didn’t know how to respond. He too, though filled with ample fear in his heart, had no choice but to offer whatever makeshift comfort he could.

When the aunt returned home and told the story, Yōjirō grew angry again. “What’s wrong with Uncle and Aunt Ōmiya?” “How long will they keep faith in that fox-conjuring ascetic?” “They’re scaring us witless with these tricks—all to swindle exorbitant prayer fees in the end!” “Can they truly not see something so obvious?” “Even so,” retorted his brother, “proof outweighs arguments—didn’t a strange shadow appear exactly on the hundredth night?”

“That’s the ascetic using a fox!”

Once again, the brothers' quarrel began, but even Ōnoya's parents could not settle the dispute. The brother who believed in the ascetic and the younger brother who did not—their debate was ultimately nothing more than a pointless quarrel, and with the evening meal serving as a boundary, their argument naturally dissolved. Yet Yōjirō's heart remained unsettled. After finishing his evening meal and returning from the neighborhood bathhouse, tonight's moon rose in vivid clarity.

“What a fine Thirteenth Night,” said the neighbors as they came outside. Among them were also those who pressed their hands together in prayer.

Thirteenth Night—thinking of that, Yōjirō found himself unable to remain settled at home. He left the shop aimlessly and visited Ōmiya in Shibaichō. “Is Oseki-chan here?”

“Yes.” “She’s in the back,” answered her mother, Oyoshi.

“Could you call her for me?” said Yōjirō.

“Oseki...” “Yō-chan has come, you know.”

Called by Mother, Oseki came out from the back. Tonight’s Oseki, made up more beautifully than usual, appeared lovelier still before moonlight.

“Since the moon is lovely, won’t you come out front to worship it?” Yōjirō invited. Contrary to their expectation that she would likely refuse, Oseki obediently came out front, so the parents found it strange. Yōjirō also felt somewhat taken aback. However, since he had resolved to draw Oseki out before the bright moon and create a habit where she wouldn’t fear its light, seizing this fortunate opportunity, the two set off walking together. The parents also rejoiced and sent them out.

The young man and woman walked toward Kanasugi, and the cold autumn night wind fluttered gently through their sleeves. The moonlight was as bright as daytime.

“Oseki-chan, walking on a moonlit night like this must feel pleasant,” said Yōjirō.

Oseki remained silent.

“As I said before that night – you mustn’t dwell on trivial things.” “That’s why you grow despondent and your health fails – why you make Father and Mother worry so.” “To cast all that aside – why don’t we walk late into this night?” “Yes,” Oseki answered softly. —Shadows and roadside deity – Thirteenth Night botamochi—

The children's song could be heard again. It was about a block after they had left Ōmiya’s shopfront when they began walking.

“Even if children come, it’s fine. It’s better to let them step on it as much as they want without concern,” Yōjirō said encouragingly.

A group of about ten children came out from the side street as one. They approached the two while singing in unison, but as Yōjirō walked on deliberately feigning composure—firmly grasping Oseki’s right hand with one hand—those who seemed poised to trample their shadows suddenly cried out and scattered in all directions at once as though they had glimpsed something.

“Ghost! Ghost!”

They fled while shouting in unison. Even as he thought the children—who had likely approached to step on their shadows but, finding him unfazed, resorted to shouting those things to frighten them—Yōjirō glanced behind him. Having walked southward until now, he hadn’t noticed at all, but there on the ground behind him at an angle were two shadows: one was unmistakably his own, while the other was a skeleton’s shadow. Yōjirō gasped in shock. Though he had been denouncing the ascetic as a fox-summoner, now that he was actually shown that shadow, he was suddenly seized by an indescribable terror. The children’s cries of “Ghost!” had not been lies.

Yōjirō, seized by sudden terror, lost all sense of reason. Releasing Oseki’s hand—which he had been gripping tightly until now—he turned back toward Shibaichō and fled, half out of his mind.

Startled by the report, when Oseki's parents rushed to the spot with Yōjirō, they found Oseki collapsed in the middle of the street, slashed diagonally from her right shoulder. According to the neighbors’ account, after Yōjirō had run off, a single samurai happened to pass by, suddenly drew his sword, cut Oseki down, and left—so it was said. Though it was early evening—on such a moonlit night, there should be no street slaying. That samurai, too, may have seen the suspicious shadow cast upon the ground and immediately cut her down.

Oseki’s fear of her own shadow had been a precursor to this outcome—the Ōmiya parents lamented. "That ascetic bastard used a fox to show such wonders," Yōjirō raged. However, no one could have given a definite explanation. It was merely that such a bizarre incident had occurred and been recounted to the world.